Hey user you like books! Read us a story!

>not being an autistic savant and instantly visualizing how many of them there are through an abstract gestalting process in your head the moment you look at them which you can't explain to neurologists or psychologists and which baffles researchers to this date, your ability to instantly "count" how many things in a group there are without consciously counting them eventually becoming one of the most famous case histories in the study of abnormal neurology and autistic-savant abilities

>It was the best of times, it was the worst of times

you forgot
>but still not knowing what gestalten means

>being this autistic
shaking my head famiglia

Only one enemy remained

i'd read the coprophagic bits of gravity's rainbow. then maybe the pedophiliac ones if there's still anyone in the room.

this was a good reply actually well done

sweet dreams are made of cheaply perfumed girls

>try to read bababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnuk
>they think I'm awkwardly stuttering

>you actually are nervously stuttering so it becomes four times longer

ON WOMEN

BY ARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER
PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION

> My sweet little whorish Nora I did as you told me, you dirty little girl, and pulled myself off twice when I read your letter.

all those basic bitches. Not worth my time

>babbabaabbabbb-adalgharagggghh--takammimm-naaraa--rronnk-k-k-onnbronntonnerronn-nn-n-tuo-onnth-huh-hunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoo-ohohohohohhhhhooordenenthurnuk

>wins nobel prize for surpassing even Joyce

>The extensive wars wherewith Louis XIV was burdened during his reign, while draining the
State's treasury and exhausting the substance of the people, none the less contained the secret that led to the prosperity of a swarm of those bloodsuckers who are always on the watch for public calamities, which, instead of appeasing, they promote or invent so as, precisely, to be able to profit from them the more advantageously...

You girls like Tlon, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius?

λοπαδοτεμαχοσελαχογαλεοkρανιολειψανοδριμυποτριμματοσιλφιοkαραβομελιτοkαταkεχυμενοkιχλεπιkοσσυφοφαττοπεριστεραλεkτρυονοπτοkεφαλλιοkιγkλοπελειολαγῳοσιραιοβαφητραγανοπτερύγων

Get away from me you whores.

heh, i'm glad you asked ladies

Wardine be cry

>Starts reciting Paradife Loft by memory

Brevity=wit.

Now this is a story all about how
My life got flipped-turned upside down
And I'd like to take a minute
Just sit right there
I'll tell you how I became the prince of a town called Bel-Air

In west Philadelphia born and raised
On the playground was where I spent most of my days
Chillin' out maxin' relaxin' all cool
And all shooting some b-ball outside of the school
When a couple of guys who were up to no good
Started making trouble in my neighborhood
I got in one little fight and my mom got scared
She said, "You're movin' with your auntie and uncle in Bel-Air."

I begged and pleaded with her day after day
But she packed my suitcase and sent me on my way
She gave me a kiss and then she gave me my ticket.
I put my Walkman on and said, "I might as well kick it."

First class, yo, this is bad
Drinking orange juice out of a champagne glass.
Is this what the people of Bel-Air living like?
Hmm, this might be alright.

But wait I hear they're prissy, bourgeois, all that
Is this the type of place that they just send this cool cat?
I don't think so
I'll see when I get there
I hope they're prepared for the prince of Bel-Air

Well, the plane landed and when I came out
There was a dude who looked like a cop standing there with my name out
I ain't trying to get arrested yet
I just got here
I sprang with the quickness like lightning, disappeared

I whistled for a cab and when it came near
The license plate said "Fresh" and it had dice in the mirror
If anything I could say that this cab was rare
But I thought, "Nah, forget it."
– "Yo, home to Bel-Air."

I pulled up to the house about 7 or 8
And I yelled to the cabbie, "Yo home smell ya later."
I looked at my kingdom
I was finally there
To sit on my throne as the Prince of Bel-Air

Only one enemy remained. Two if you counted God.

>This story might get a little long ladies

>Money...?

Call me numale.

>*ahem* Sunset found her squatting in the grass, groaning.

Nah its brevity is the soul of wit, bro

i will tell them something about zizek and his thoughts on cinema. i will smoothly go through lacan and freud theories, paying special attention to theory of sexuality. some of them will think about that deeply this night. after some alcohol someone will have wild fantasies caused by freud theory. maybe someone of them will invite me to dance and i will accept this invitation. vodka and apple juice will affect magically. the music is perfect. the night is perfect. i whisper my wildest thoughts in her ear. she smiles and looks into my eyes. fucking shit. she is beautiful. she takes my hand and leads me to the second floor of the house. her gait is natural and easy, she looks like she come to me from antiquity like aphrodite or something. she closes the door to the castle and dissolves her beautiful hair. i kiss her in her magic wonderful lips. that's great. she's undressing. a gorgeous night awaits us. in the morning i will go to college and we'll never meet again. i did not even ask her name. my soul is sad and light..

youtube.com/watch?v=0yBnIUX0QAE

underrated

Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law. Love is the law. Love under law.

I wish I could hear your lips spluttering those heavenly exciting filthy words, see your mouth making dirty sounds and noises, feel your body wriggling under me, hear and smell the dirty fat girlish farts going pop pop out of your pretty bare girlish bum and fuck fuck fuck fuck my naughty little hot fuckbird's cunt for ever.

I am happy now, because my little whore tells me she wants me to roger her arseways and wants me to fuck her mouth and wants to unbutton me and pull out my mickey and suck it off like a teat. More and dirtier than this she wants to do, my little naked fucker, my naughty wriggling little frigger, my sweet dirty little farter.

Goodnight, my little cuntie I am going to lie down and pull at myself until I come. Write more and dirtier, darling. Tickle your little cockey while you write to make you say worse and worse. Write the dirty words big and underline them and kiss them and hold them for a moment to your sweet hot cunt, darling, and also pull up your dress a moment and hold them under your dear little farting bum. Do more if you wish and send the letter then to me, my darling brown-arsed fuckbird.
the end

Alright settle in ladies, this is a long one...

>they giggle, maybe lock eyes one for ~2 seconds

A specter is haunting Europe...

>not Numael

One job

Alright settle in ladies, this is a long one...

>they giggle, maybe lock eyes one for ~2 seconds

*unzips dick*

In the three or four civilized European countries, one can in a few centuries educate women to be anything one wants, even men--not in the sexual sense, of course, but certainly in every other sense. At some point, under such an influence, they will have taken on all male virtues and strengths, and of course they will also have to take male weaknesses and vices into the bargain. This much, as I said, one can bring about by force. But how will we endure the intermediate stage it brings with it, which itself can last a few centuries, during which female follies and injustices, their ancient birthright, still claim predominance over everything they will have learned or achieved? This will be the time when anger will constitute the real male emotion, anger over the fact that all the arts and sciences will be overrun and clogged up by shocking dilettantism; bewildering chatter will talk philosophy to death; politics will be more fantastic and partisan than ever; society will be in complete dissolution because women, the preservers of the old custom, will have become ludicrous in their own eyes, and will be intent on standing outside custom in every way. For if women had their greatest power in custom, where will they not have to reach to achieve a similar abundance of power again, after they have given up custom?

Ah yes! It would please me greatly to bring you fine maidens closer to the light of truth, thus preventing further suffering on our cruel Mother Earth! Allow me to begin.
*I take off my hat*
*I unbutton my car coat so I can sit down more easily*
>Each one of us was harmed by being brought into existence. That harm is not negligible, because the quality of even the best lives is very bad—and considerably worse than most people recognize it to be. Although it is obviously too late to prevent our own existence, it is not too late to prevent the existence of future possible people. Creating new people is thus morally problematic.

That is an improvement. Least I tried.

Which of the giants should I read first? Nietzsche, Kierkegaard or MacIntyre?

Or Aristotle?

Who am I to disagree.

brev,wit

brewit

>doesn't like females who smell like sweet norwegian house
Kys faggot

brexit

britain is the soul of exit

>"The universe"
they giggle
>"(which others call the Library),"
the blond smirks and bites her lip
>"is-is composed of an indefinite, perhaps *cough* infinite number of hexagonal-"
the girl on the left begins to rub her self against me under the table
>"-galleries. In the center of each gallery is a ventilation shaft"
several of them look up from their phones, exchange knowing glances, burst out laughing, look at me and cover their mouths with their hands
>"bounded by a low railing. From any hexagon one can see the floors above and below-one after another, endlessly. The arrangement of the galleries is always the same: -"
the blond puts a hand on my arm. she laughs: "oh user, you didn't actually think we invited you here to read to us? look at you, you're so serious! you need to ... lighten up", she thrusts her cool slender hand down the front of my pants and everyone giggles; someone takes the book out of my hand and i scream spergically; the girls press against me with their lithe, slender bodies, and i fall to the ground flailing, insisting that id like my book back; but the blonde puts her heel on my chest, smirks malevolently, "oh, you mean this book?" Holding up borges, she cracks open a PBR, cackles, drenches the book, and then methodically rips out each page of The Library of Babel one by one, wadding each into a sodden ball and stuffing it in my mouth. they take terms with me while my mouth's full of hexagons.
>mfw

have you ever thought about writing and publishing erotica?

No time for a story. Maybe next time my loves. Now which one of you ladies give the cheapest blowjob?

That's god awful. It really is. We need to stop wasting resources in teaching women literacy and numeracy. Jesus H Christ.

ive published several fuck-fictions m'sir.

I got a better idea:
I start a story, and when I stop, you keep going. I'll go first. Kelsey, you're next. This is gonna get wild, and I'm gonna need more beer.

I would immediately fuck anyone who could recite that story from memory. no homo

*pulls out a copy of Confessions of an English Handmaid*

This man gets it.

I was asked to tell a story about something that happened to me once that was not fucking part material.

So I said " how about we just play never have I ever?"

girls "LMAO OMG user, I LOVE THAT GAME, NEVER HAVE I EVER SUCKED DICK! heheeeehee"